


Crime and Punishment

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Awkward Crush, F/F, Flirting, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 10:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17896835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: Girls and boys your age are lame. You only have eyes for Ms. MacLeod — your history teacher.





	Crime and Punishment

Rowena MacLeod was fucking perfect.

You'd come to that conclusion after hours upon hours of listening to her ramble on and on about one thing or another that had happened centuries before you were born. You never tired of her lessons, always on alert, absorbing every word that came out of her mouth like a sponge.

The woman had a voice you'd let insult you to no end, and an accent that made your pussy drip with want. You could listen to her read a phonebook.

While your friends spent hours on end talking about their crushes, you kept yours a secret, preferring to have her all to yourself. They wouldn't understand. Nobody would. They'd laugh and tease you, act like it was all a big joke.

It was anything but.

Ms. MacLeod had won your heart the moment she'd first stepped foot in the classroom and announced she was your new history teacher all those months ago. Small and stern, she was a spitfire of a woman, a firecracker that ignited sparks deep within you every time she raised her voice and spat out orders. She demanded to be listened and obeyed. You had no problem with that.

Her hair was silky fire. You'd lost count of the number of times you'd daydreamed of running your fingers through those gorgeous curls, of pulling at them, yanking her head back so those emerald eyes would be forced to stare straight into yours. Her breasts, while small, were perfect; you were absolutely certain they'd fit right into the palms of your hands, like puzzle pieces made specifically for one another. When you weren't staring at them, your eyes were on her ass. It was as tiny as the rest of her, round and firm. The dress pants she wore almost every day curved around it as if molded on her body.

Girls and boys your age were lame. You needed a _woman;_ a strong, independent woman who could take anything and give back as good as she got, who offered security rather than uncertainty. A woman who was mature and took you seriously instead of making fun of you.

Ms. MacLeod fit that role perfectly.

If only she knew that.

The bell rang, and everyone threw their books in their bags and hurried outside. You took your time getting ready. You had a free period after history, and all your friends had classes. You weren't looking forwards to spending an hour sitting in the hallway, alone, doing nothing.

"Y/N, could you stay a bit? I'd like to have a wee talk," Ms. MacLeod said.

"Sure," you said. What was this about? You weren't the best student, but you were far from the worst. This couldn't have been anything bad.

Right?

Maybe she wanted to offer to tutor you. Your heart jumped at the possibility. Being tutored by Ms. MacLeod would be a dream come true. You would have a hard time concentrating, but that was beside the point. You would have her all to yourself for a couple hours almost every day. So what if you struggled to learn anything? If she thought you had issues with certain lessons, maybe she would give you extra tutoring. You liked the sound of that.

As soon as the last student left, Ms. MacLeod closed the door, crossed her arms over her chest in a manner you found incredibly sexy, and looked at you. "So."

"Yes?" you said in your most casual tone. Fake even to your ears.

"It has come to my attention that you are having a hard time concentrating in my class," she said matter-of-factly. No emotion in her voice, or her face. She was a blank slate, a perfectly practiced mask.

"I-I concentrate just fine," you said. You concentrated on her boobs and ass, but you concentrated fine. More than fine, in fact. It depended on how tight her clothes happened to be on that particular day.

"I don't think you do," Ms. MacLeod said. She shifted in place, hip popping sideways. You pretended not to notice the hotness of the movement, willing your eyes to remain on her face. Anything lower than her chin and you were screwed, and not in the way you wanted to be. "You seem to be a tad busy with staring at my breasts and arse."

Your heart stopped dead in its tracks, then sped up as if in a race, the lucky winner to be awarded with a heart attack. You wished you had a heart attack. You wished for the earth beneath your feet to open wide and swallow you whole, never to see light of day again.

Never to see those eyes like emerald fire boring into yours with accusation clear in them as day. I _know what you've done,_ they said. _I know what you've been doing since day one._

What were you supposed to say to that? Was there anything to say at all? Other than the truth, which wasn't an option. But then, neither was denial. Your flushed cheeks made sure of that.

"I… I wasn't…" you tried, but couldn't get yourself to finish. It was no use.

Ms. MacLeod's pointed stare said as much. She knew. The realization made your stomach twist with unease.

Would she make you transfer to a different class?

"You weren't what?" she demanded. There was a challenge in her voice, a dare. _Go on. Lie to me. Do your best._

You cleared your throat, praying to all deities you could think of, some of which you'd made up on the spot, for words not to fail you again. "I was… observing."

Ms. MacLeod cocked up an eyebrow. Disbelieving but curious. Playing along to see where it would lead. "What, pray tell, were you observing?

"The blackboard."

She shot you a look of absolute offense, as if you'd called her stupid to her face. "The blackboard," she repeated, testing the words, tasting them on her tongue. They tasted foul, of badly-crafted lies and empty excuses. "Did it happen to be imprinted on my arse?"

You bit back a sarcastic response, embarrassment taking over. Your eyes fell to your nervously shuffling feet. You couldn't face her anymore. Couldn't look at her for the truth was out and there was nothing you could do to make it go back into hiding.

Ms. MacLeod smirked, victorious, amused. Like a cat watching a mouse desperately trying to get away, knowing full well it got it trapped. She seemed to be enjoying this in some smug, sadistic way you found hot, only now there was fear attached to the feeling. Fear and shame and discomfort, a concoction that replaced the butterflies in your stomach with tight knots.

"I didn't think so," Ms. MacLeod said, tone matching the look on her face. She shifted to her other hip. _Eyes away,_ you told yourself. It was wandering eyes that got you into this mess in the first place.

Ms. MacLeod stepped forward, one pointed, high-heeled foot after the other, a slow, enticing stroll that forced your insides into overdrive. She moved sensually, gracefully, like a queen from a distant land far away. Delicate but confident. Arrogant. Imposing. A perfect mixture. Your pussy throbbed in agreement, panties drenched.

She stopped right in front if you, so close you could smell the flowery shampoo in her hair. All of her smelled like flowers, like meadows somewhere far away, somewhere deep in the heart of Scotland. You swallowed a lump that had formed in the back of your throat. She was small, but there was a fire to her, a power that radiated from her every pore. Magic. She was magic, pure and simple. There was no other explanation for what she was doing to you, for how even the slightest thought of her was affecting you. Nature seemed too… casual for someone like her. Too normal. Too _human._

"I… I'm sorry," you squeaked out.

Sorry you got caught.

Ms. MacLeod scoffed, a tiny sliver of laughter rolling from her lips. "You're sorry."

It was a taunt. Disbelief. She could see right through your bullshit, and it amused her to no end.

You, on the other hand, were terrified.

"I don't think you are," she said.

She stepped closer. Her arm brushed over yours, and electric sparks spread from the spot through your entire body like poison. Potent. Deadly. Dangerous. You found yourself barely able to breathe, the sensations of her closeness, of her eyes on you, of her sweet, sweet smell lingering all around you overwhelming you. Your senses were in overdrive, flaring bright red like alarms. _Alert! Object of attraction in close proximity! Alert!_ Your heart beat accordingly, pounding like a hammer inside your chest. A few more blows and, you were sure, it would crack it open, spill from your ribcage for all the world to see how weak you were.

For _her_ to see it and taunt you even more.

"I think," Ms. MacLeod said, her finger, red with perfectly applied nail polish, landing on your cheek, "you're not sorry at all."

You shivered at the touch, nerves exploding all at once, burning off like spent batteries. "I… I am," you stammered.

"I don't think you are." She slid her finger to your lips, gently, slowly slid its pad over them. A caring gesture, underneath it another taunt, another dare. Lightly parting her ruby-red lips, she purred, "I think you enjoyed it."

"I…"

God, she was close. So damn close. You resisted the urge to capture her finger with your mouth. It would only make things worse.

If they even could get any worse.

Shit! Shit, shit, shit!

"I think you're enjoying _this,"_ Ms. MacLeod continued. Her finger slipped lower, stopping over the traitorous vein. It pounded against her skin, hard, harder, the hardest, betraying your body with its incessant, rabid beats. Betraying you. Ms. MacLeod smirked like the cat that got the cream. Victorious. Proud. "I think you want more."

She had no idea.

You'd wanted it since the very first time you'd laid eyes on her.

"It's not appropriate." You felt stupid as soon as the words left your mouth. It was way past appropriate for twenty minutes already.

Or maybe twenty years. The concept of time was lost on you. Everything was lost on you but her.

Ms. MacLeod laughed heartily. As if she'd read your thoughts, she said, "Och, dear, we're way past appropriate." She trailed the finger lower, dangerously lower, stopped it between your breasts, started tracing circles over the small spot. "Don't you think?"

"I-yes." You had to force the words out, had to will them to leave your constricted throat.

"Good girl," she said, plastering a smile over her face. Her first nice one today, genuine, from the heart. "You _are_ a good girl, right?"

"I try to be," you replied.

"Staring at my chest—" she emphasized it by palming your left breast "—wasn't very good. And neither was staring at my arse." Her other hand slithered over to your ass, giving it a light pat.

You swallowed. _Oh, god._ You had a daydream that started exactly like this. Would it end like it did in your imagination? You hoped it would. God, you hoped it would.

"I had a moment of weakness." Or several. Every history class. Every time she walked through the door and started her lecture. It wasn't your fault she was hot as hell. If anyone was to blame, it was her.

"Oh, I know," Ms. MacLeod said. "What do you propose we do about it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I've got to punish you. I can't reward behavior like that. If I let you get away with it, you will keep doing it."

Fair point. You _had_ been bad.

"How will you punish me?"

"That's what I'm asking you," she said. The corners of her mouth twitched with amusement. "What do you think is an appropriate punishment?"

"I don't know." You could think of a few things, but you didn't dare say them out loud.

"I think you do." She leaned forwards, nose pressing into yours. She was so warm, so hot, boiling to the touch. "I think you know exactly what I should do."

_Push me against the wall. Kiss me. Bite me. Mark me. Fuck the air out of me._

You'd rather die than voice those thoughts aloud.

From the look on her face, she knew them, word for word. You didn't have to say a single word; she knew everything, and more, so much more. Your body, your heart, your uneven breaths told all.

"You want it, right? You want to be punished?" Ms. MacLeod asked.

"Yes," you said a tad more eagerly than intended, prompting her to chuckle. "I was bad."

"You were," she agreed.

"I deserve it." _I want it._

"You do, very much so. Shall we do it after school?"

"Sure." You had nothing planned anyway. And even if you had, you would've cancelled. A punishment session with Ms. MacLeod took precedence.

"Excellent," she said. "My house, three o'clock sharp."

You swallowed. "Your house?"

"Would you prefer a hotel?"

You shook your head. "Your house is fine," you said with a small smile. She was inviting you over to her home. Was this a dream? Had you gotten lost in another one of your daydreams? This surely couldn't be real.

But it was.

Ms. MacLeod, your sexy history teacher, the object of your desire, your biggest crush, had invited you to her house after school.

"Great." She walked over to her desk, scribbled something on a piece of paper, and shoved it in your hands. "Here's the address. I assume you won't have trouble finding it?"

You glanced down at the neatly folded paper. Her handwriting was as elegant as gorgeous as her. "No," you replied. You knew that street, having passed it hundreds of times on your way over to your friend's house.

"I suppose that's settled, then," Ms. MacLeod said.

"It is."

You cursed yourself for skipping on shaving your legs yesterday. You hoped she wouldn't mind it. Your pubes, too, were a bushy mess. And your panties — they were more granny than sexy, and didn't match your bra.

 _It will be fine,_ you told yourself. Ms. MacLeod would make it fine. She wanted you as you were. If she didn't, she wouldn't have invited you over. She wouldn't have teased you. She wouldn't have turned you on if she didn't plan on relieving you.

"Good."

Ms. MacLeod pecked you on the lips. A swift, soft brush of skin over skin, a touch so powerful it sent sparks through you, turned your legs into jelly. She tasted as she smelled, sweet and flowery, a refined candy. Breathtaking. Addictive. You already wanted — needed, craved — more.

She stepped back, eyes lingering on your swollen, wanton lips, then opened the door wide, that beautiful smile never leaving her face.

"After school," she said.

"After school," you confirmed with a nod, grabbing your bag and heading out.

"Don't be late."

"I won't."

The two of you exchanged a nod, a silent agreement, and then she closed the door. You stared at it, stared at the polished wood, thoughts tightly locked on the woman behind it. You were already missing her; missing her in your personal space, missing her lips on yours. Missing her taste and smell and everything nice and lovely and _hers._

The hallway was empty; everyone was already in class or (those who also had free periods) outside. You slipped into the nearest bathroom. Making sure all stalls were unoccupied, you walked into the one by the wall and slammed the door shut. A few moments passed in silence. Then you squealed and squealed and squealed, over and over again, the squeaky sounds tearing from your mouth one after another. You squealed like a fangirl at a convention who'd just met her favorite celebrity, overwhelmed with joy, with excitement that surpassed every other emotion.

It had started out as a normal day, no different than any other, no less boring and uneventful.

Who would've thought it would end like this?

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by OswinTheStrange.
> 
> Please, leave a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed. :)


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